by LAURA HARNER
His eyes widened, she didn’t know or care if it was the profanity or her refusal to capitulate that surprised him most. Before he could say another word, the door to her bed chamber flew open, and Ian burst in. It must have looked like quite a scene, with the big man who wasn’t Gav on his back, blood trickling from the wound on his neck. Randi kneeling over him, hand steady, eyes never moving from her captive.
Ian did what any trained warrior and loyal friend would do. He exploded with laughter. His laughter gripped him until he was gasping for breath, and when Randi and her captive both barked orders at him at the same time, he laughed all the harder, until tears streamed down his face.
“Worthington, remove this witch now, before I hurt her,” the big man roared.
“Ian, fetch the guards, bring some rope,” Randi demanded.
Nearly doubled over, Ian pulled in deep lungfuls of air, and cleared his throat. Moving slowly, approaching Randi from the front, Ian began to speak softly to her.
“Miranda lass, pull the blade back a wee bit, while we talk about this.”
“Don’t be a bloody arse, Ian. Take the knife, use the compulsion.”
“Hold your whist, Alex. Let me guess, you were trying to read her, to deep-listen? I think ‘tis about time we got many things straight around here, seems as though there are a few too many secrets.”
Randi held the knife so that Alexander was unable to move his head without causing a deeper cut. A deep growl and snarl of his lip indicated his displeasure. She wanted to ask Ian more about the deep-listening as he called it, but that could wait, especially since she thought she had a pretty good grasp on what he meant. Randi kept her gaze locked on the Druid beneath her blade, her concentration razor sharp and all focused on maintaining control over Alexander.
“Miranda, allow me to introduce you to your brother-in-law, Alexander MacLachlan, clan chief and Laird, the only brother of your beloved husband, Gabhran. Alex, this is your brother’s wife, Miranda.” As he spoke he continued to move closer, and knelt across from Miranda and stretched his hand across Alex, palm up, silently requesting she hand over the dirk.
Neither her hand nor her resolve waivered, as she asked for clarification. “I thought Alexander was lost at sea and died.”
“Och, well apparently those reports were wrong, now let me up,” Alexander roared.
“Oh, aye my fine brother-in-law, I will let you up and hear your story,” she imitated his thick brogue, “but I will be keeping my husband’s blade, if you doona mind. If you ever try to touch me again, I will plant it between your legs, and be warned, if you reach into my mind again, I will kill you.” Her voice was quiet, firm, and the remarks were delivered with such casual indifference that both men shivered.
When Randi finally moved the blade, she wiped one side of the blade across his white linen shirt, then she flipped her hand and wiped the other side of the blade. She smiled at the effect of the red ‘X’ on Alexander’s shirt, made with his own blood. Then she stood and backed away, keeping her gaze on Alex, unwilling to extend her trust on Ian’s word, alone.
In that moment, she realized the power she had sensed within herself all those weeks ago was not just feeling some nearby spirits who would help from time to time. No, her power felt deep and strong, hungry for knowledge, anxious to be used. This was the power thought to appear only once in each generation of her family. It was the power of her cousin Marie and the ancient Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau. It was the power of her mother.
Miranda finally understood, it was not about voodoo at all, it was about the magick that existed in the world. Some people were destined to be the instruments of that magick, different people, different magick, and it was the magick that chose. That explained the existence of voodoo and witches, Wiccan and Druids, and she was now certain there were more types of magick out there of which she was unaware.
In New Orleans, where there were plenty of vessels for the unique bayou magick, her power had lain dormant. Here in fourteenth century Scotland, her inherent capacity for magick was no longer dormant, the magick had entered her, and she needed guidance to learn its true nature. She was not the only one in the room with great power; she could feel it coursing through her veins, thrumming, pulsing, alive.
She had drawn on spirits twice now, once intentionally and once by accident. Somehow, when Alex had tried to probe her thoughts, something ancient and powerful had awakened within her. She’d been called. There was no going back.
****
Alex watched as Miranda moved to the library fireplace, while he took a seat across from Ian. He noticed that although her gaze drifted occasionally toward the fire, her focus never entirely left the two of them. Ian assumed the role of host, and offered drinks, then asked Alex to begin, to tell them what had happened and how he came to be presumed dead.
Before Alex told his tale, he started with an apology and confession of sorts to Ian.
“Aye, Ian, you had the right of things when you spoke of secrets. ‘Twas not just you and Gav that were trained in Druid ways, I also received training, and for reasons I doona yet understand, I was to keep that knowledge to myself. Gav and I could sense the growing power within each other, but we never acknowledged it or spoke about it.”
Then Alex launched his tale, including the betrayal by one of Robert’s guards, and his eventual discovery that the real Tristan had been murdered weeks before the ship sailed and it was the imposter who had arranged for the ship to leave early, prompting Alex to go in Gav’s stead. The false Tristan held him captive for weeks on the island, kept him drugged, starved, dehydrated, and tortured. It was this combination that had weakened him and kept him from accessing his Druid powers or senses.
As Alex told his story with words, he also added details with his mind so Ian would have a better idea of what Alex had endured. He knew Ian was listening with his Druid senses and would pick up the mental images, but he would not speak of the torture aloud to spare the lass. Spare the lass indeed, she is a hellcat, and would probably use some of those same techniques against him if he explained. How did my brother come to marry her?
“Eventually he became less vigilant, and failed to notice I didna eat or drink for nearly two days, trying to clear my system of the poisons he used. I waited until I could feel my strength return and I escaped my bonds while he slept. ‘Twas no challenge to strip his mind of all the knowledge he possessed, his Druid skills were marginal, a mere apprentice.
“Unfortunately, he had limited knowledge of the actual mastermind of the plot. From what I gathered, there is a new Druid sect forming, started by someone previously denied Druid training, but who obviously has some inborn powers. The plan was to keep me there for many months, while they stripped my mind of my Druid knowledge. He was to be joined by more skilled men later.”
He walked to the side table and poured a glass of amber liquid, tossed it back, and poured another. He had told his damned story, and he hated it. It left him feeling violated and weak, something that would fade in time, he knew, but was still raw and fresh for the now. He began to close his mind, erecting the shields necessary so that he could hear Gabhran’s tale. It was imperative that he act shocked at the news of his brother’s death. He would not have to act out the grief.
“So tell me Ian, where is my brother, I canna sense him, where has he gone?”
“Och, Alex, there is no easy way to tell you, Gav died and we buried him yesterday. He was wounded in an assassination plot that killed my da and William. Gabhran was a hero, and used his own body to shield Stephan and me from the assassin’s crossbows.” Ian sat quietly then, as if waiting for Alex to absorb the news. He glanced over at Miranda, appearing worried how reliving it might affect her, but she still was half turned toward the fire, her hair shielding her face.
Alex absorbed the information, feeling the fresh pain of grief wash over him at his brother’s absence, if not his death. “Tell me what happened, Ian.”
Glancing nervously at Miranda, Ian demurred,
“Perhaps it would be better if we spoke alone.”
“Tell us both, Ian,” Randi said with quiet dignity. “I need to hear.”
Alex thought of the woman across the room. For the first time, he felt a momentary stirring of sympathy in his heart. Her eyes flicked to him, then quickly away, almost as though she’d known what he’d been thinking. Then he dismissed her from his mind and focused on Ian’s tale. Alex sucked in a breath when his old friend got to the part of his brother’s betrayal. The room grew still when Ian stopped talking, and Alex was lost in thought for a long minute.
“Now perhaps you will tell me your story, lass. How is it you came to be married to my brother?” Alexander asked, turning his head and attention to Miranda. He challenged her with his tone.
Ian quickly stepped in, as if feeling protective of Miranda, and all she’d suffered. “I helped Gav with that, Alex. After he heard you had died at sea, he became frantic to create heirs, lest something should happen to him as well. He negotiated a fair agreement with Miranda’s father. “Twas not but a sen’night after the wedding that we had to leave for battle. We were gone much longer than anticipated, and ‘twas a scarce minute Gav didna speak of Miranda. ‘Twas his last wish that I bring him home to her.”
Miranda’s breath shuddered on a suppressed sigh. Alexander looked at her skeptically. Did she expect him to believe that after a scant week together in their marriage, she was stricken with grief? She had some game afloat; he needed to learn more of her background. Perhaps she liked being married to the Laird.
He noticed Miranda’s eyes flicked to him again, and he saw her shoulders stiffen. She must be sensing some of the hostility he felt for her.
Miranda turned and faced him fully for the first time, although she spoke to Ian. “Ian, I need to speak to my brother-in-law in private. Would you give us a minute?”
With a curt nod, Ian left the room, and shut the door behind him.
Alexander smiled a tight, slightly mocking smile at Miranda. He was feeling completely on edge. This woman unsettled him. I doona like her, he thought wonderingly, now why is that? Could it be that she kicked your arse or are you jealous of your brother’s love for her? Both?
“What is it you wish to see me about that needs to be done in private? Are you perhaps looking to wed the real Laird, now that you know my brother never held the title? Or do you wish to return to your father’s house since the contract has been fulfilled? I will have no objections. Leave as soon as you will.”
The cruel words were barely out of his mouth when he doubled over as if someone had punched him in the stomach and flew backwards through the air to land on the floor with an “Ooomph.”
He had no idea how that happened, but it felt for all the world like he’d been hit hard enough to send him flying. He glared at her, but before he could draw enough breath to speak, Miranda stalked across the room to stand over him.
“How is it you know with absolute certainty that my husband’s still alive?” she asked, then quickly followed with, “Why haven’t you asked even once about Alysone, about Lissa? And what exactly is it you know about time travel?”
Alexander felt like all the air was just sucked out of the room.
Alexander sat and stared at Miranda in stunned disbelief. Had she done that? She'd looked as astonished as he felt to see him sail across the room. He weighed close to two hundred and fifty pounds, and he had just been tossed fifteen feet through the air, and the lass never moved, never uttered a word, never even wrinkled her brow. What in the bloody hell was she? Who was she?
From his mind to his mouth, the words exploded, voice layered upon voice, he hit her with the full force of his compulsion spell. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice reverberated around the room, echoing off the walls.
She looked at him as though he were an imbecile. Truth was, seated on the floor, shirt stained, hair flying loose about his face, he felt like a fool. He wanted to throttle the woman.
He waited, knowing no one could resist the full power of his compulsion, she would answer.
Heaving a mighty sigh, Miranda said in an irritatingly patient voice, “My name is Miranda Close MacLachlan, and I am married to Gabhran, and stop that ridiculous shouting.”
Alex hurried to his feet, while searching her face. Although she’d technically answered his question, it seemed to have been because it was an innocuous question, not worthy of resistance. People fully under the spell of compulsion only performed to the letter of the command. She’d answered his question and then continued to give him her own command, albeit without any force behind it.
He tried another command. “Sit in that chair.” And he regally pointed at the chair across the room, near the window.
“Oh, get over yourself, will you? We have a lot to talk about, and it’s clear we don’t trust each other one whit. So you don’t tell me what to do, and I won’t tell you.” Then she walked to stand behind a small settee that was near where he stood staring at her, his mouth agape.
Dropping all attempts to coerce her through compulsion, he asked, “What are you, lass, what is your magick?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, locking her gaze on his. He read the truth of her words in her expression.
Then as though her newfound and untested strength were of little consequence, she took a deep breath and what must have been giant leaps of faith. “Are you ready to talk, to lower the walls between us and share what we know?
He nodded curtly, afraid to trust himself to speak.
“I know you don’t believe Gabhran is dead, but that Ian does. Somehow, even though you know he is not dead, you still grieve for Gabhran. I don’t believe he is dead either, but he isn’t here with me, and that makes me grieve for him too. Ian told me we buried him two days ago. I was here two days ago, and I know we didn’t. So how is it two of us believe he is alive, and another actually remembers burying him? I know you know the truth of that question.”
“What makes you think you know anything, lass? ‘Tis an overactive imagination you have.” He reverted to the safety of his overbearing attitude. How did she know these things? How could he tell her about Gav? Then another thought struck him, one that caused his insides to grow cold. Where had Gabhran found her? Had she traveled here herself? Was she one of the foretold Druid betrayers?
“Is it always one step forward two steps back with you, Alexander? I don’t particularly trust you, so I know it’s useless to ask you to trust me on blind faith alone. Except for this. I love Gabhran and he loves me. It is the most important thing in my life to find him and be with him. Can you do some kind of Druid thingy and see I am telling the truth without hurting me like you did upstairs?”
Thingy? “What say you with this thingy word, why is it you speak in such an odd fashion?”
With a much put upon sigh, Miranda tried again. “Alexander, can you sense I am telling you the truth about my love for Gabhran without hurting me?”
He locked his gaze with hers for a moment, wondering if he was about to take another flying leap backwards across the room. Very cautiously he reached for her mind and heart.
Chapter Thirty
Miranda felt as soon as he entered, and forced herself to endure his scrutiny. Something hovered just out of reach, ready to slam closed the doors should he press too far. It was a positively creepy sensation, to willingly let him read into her thoughts and feelings.
Gabhran and Marie must both have done something similar to me, this sensation is bringing back vague memories of feelings I’ve experienced before. There is a huge difference between then and now; now my magick has awakened. Now it makes me feel sick. She shuddered. “That’s enough, for now.”
Alexander sat back, looking thoughtful. “Miranda, I can sense you love him very much, but also that there is something you are withholding, will you tell me what it is?”
Miranda was surprised. What am I withholding about my love for Gabhran? “I don’t know of anything, I wasn’t holding anything back.”
“Oh for crying out loud! Will you just stop! Sit down and let’s talk.” She stared at him until he finally walked over and sat on the chair opposite the settee. Once he sat, Miranda followed suit, and finally they were face to face, on an even footing to begin the most important conversation of her life.
****
Ian heard a loud thud, that sounded like someone was throwing furniture, and then all was quiet for a minute. Then Alex was using the strongest voice of compulsion he’d e’er heard. It leaked through the door and spilled into the great hall. When he’d used it a second time, Ian sensed the exasperation in Alexander’s voice.
Perhaps the lass wasna susceptible to that magick, either. Eventually all had grown quiet, except for the occasional murmurs of people talking. Ian finally breathed easy. He stifled another grin at the image of Alex under Miranda’s dirk, and went to ride the grounds. He would leave on the morrow for home and face his brother. He glanced at the closed doors then decided Alex was on his own. There was something important he needed to do before he rode out.
Ian wondered what had made his brother so bitter. They had been raised in the lowlands, and at only one year apart, they’d been thick as thieves when they were young. As was the family custom, each boy was sent to foster when he reached the age of twelve. Their father had sent each of them to a different family, so they could be trained in their different interests. Ian had asked to go to the highlands, and through a series of mutual acquaintances, the MacLachan had agreed to foster him.
His brother had also asked to be fostered by the MacLachlan, but the senior Worthington wanted each boy to follow his own path and grow into his own man. The boys returned home each Christmas and on other special occasions, but mostly they were raised apart. Stephan took the separations especially hard and begged to go with Ian, particularly when Ian was accepted for Druid apprenticeship.